Art of Constipation
On our first serious date; he grew excited
and I was primed to knock my guy off his feet.
Spending hours on the right dress, all horrid
Till a feathery wardrobe popped from the closet.
Yes! This dress will hit the roof…top-rated;
lined with plumes from neck down mid-thighs.
Upstairs, my mood claimed I must stay decorated
trying latest trends in beauty makeover,
armed with lipsticks, false lashes and gloss shaded.
The long wait made him quite frustrated
so, Mom served cream pie to ease the tension.
Forcing him to nap while I polish a vogue look,
never wore make-up, now I was fully painted.
I stepped down with new face truly elated
he woke up from my “hello”, and trembled.
Gee, I knew the male Richter scale zoomed 8!
Flaunting my hairdo, thick with mousse… inflated.
“I’m sorry, Ted, for being late, you really waited.”
He froze. He croaked, as if he saw an ostrich,
Squeezing his arm to ensure our date well handled!
“But, I can’t go, the burps; errr..the pie,” he cited.
“My tummy‘s acting up; I’m constipated!”
Vienna's Smile , You're In Candid Camera
by nette onclaud
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2012
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